Sighs Matter

by Marianne Stillings

  Sadie loved her garden and would probably spend all day out there, losing track of time the way Claire did when she was working with the bees.

  Well, Claire decided, since her aunt was occupied, she may as well go downstairs to her office and get caught up on her patient files. After grabbing a quick bite to eat, she sauntered into the office, sat at her grandfather’s big old mahagony desk, and began shuffling through the stack of notes and folders she’d been neglecting since the accident.

  By the time she was finished, it was nearly five o’clock. The aroma of brewing coffee curled up the stairs as she was coming down, luring her into the kitchen. Just as she arrived, Aunt Sadie shrugged into her peach-colored summer sweater.

  “Now, you be a good boy while I’m gone,” she said to Hitch, who was doing a two-step back and forth across the back of a kitchen chair.

  “. . . come back . . . Shane . . .” Hitch finished his recital, then squawked and began screaming for Shane all over again.

  “So dramatic.” Sadie sighed when the noise had died down. She nudged the parrot under his beak. “Where do you get it?”

  “I couldn’t begin to imagine.” Claire laughed.

  “Anything you need from the store? Thought I’d make a quick trip, now that the Seattle Police Department has been nice enough to return my truck.”

  The truck in question had been delivered last night while Claire was out to dinner with Adam. If they’d found any evidence that might lead to the identity of the perpetrator, they were apparently keeping it to themselves.

  With a shake of her head, Claire said, “Thanks, Auntie, but I don’t need anything.”

  “When’s your next shift at the hospital?”

  “Tomorrow.”

  Sadie’s delicate gray brows arched as she said, “Are you sure it’s safe to go to work? How do you know whoever hurt you won’t try it again?”

  And wasn’t that the million-dollar question.

  “I don’t,” Claire answered, trying not to let the worry show in her eyes. “But I can’t let what happened interfere with work, Aunt Sadie. Trite as it sounds, life goes on.” She went to the cupboard and pulled out a mug. “The police assured me they’re going to keep an eye out for more trouble. The security guy is coming tomorrow to change all the locks, so we shouldn’t be bothered by any more intruders.”

  Sadie’s gentle eyes were filled with worry. “This whole thing is most disturbing and I fear for your safety. Do me a favor, and stick close to home for a while. No more trips to Seattle until this is settled.”

  Claire gave her aunt a gentle squeeze. “You have my promise I’ll be careful.” Time for a change of topic. “I think I’ll go to check on the hives now. Some of the supers are probably full enough to be harvested.”

  Instead of answering, Sadie pursed her lips, shifted her slight weight onto her other leg, and jangled her car keys in her hand. Claire knew her aunt well enough to know when something was on her mind, and Sadie obviously wanted to say, or ask, something, but didn’t know how to approach the topic. Finally, “How did your date with Adam go last night?”

  Behind them, Hitch hopped onto the table, chattering nonsense, filling in the silence with chirps and mutterings.

  “It was fine,” Claire said vaguely. “The food was wonderful.”

  She thought of Taylor and the antics he’d pulled. “It was entertaining.”

  Then she thought of Adam and the small velvet box. “It was filled with surprises.”

  And then she thought of the answer she’d given Adam. “It was over early.”

  Sadie narrowed one eye on Claire. “Have you slept with Adam?”

  Knowing Sadie as she did, Claire wasn’t at all shocked by the question.

  “No.”

  “Do you plan to?” Sadie lifted her head, and her silky hair slid back, allowing Claire to see the intense concern in her aunt’s eyes.

  Letting the empty mug dangle from her index finger, Claire said, “No.”

  “Never?”

  “Well, he asked me to marry him . . .” Hesitant to go into the whole thing, she let her voice trail off.

  Sadie frowned, deepening the lines between her eyes. “He’s very handsome. Reminds me of a young Bill Holden.”

  “Who?”

  Sadie smiled wistfully. “Before your time, dear.” She sighed. “Adam simply oozes confidence.”

  “Surgeons generally do. It’s a part of the job description. They can’t do what’s required unless they are very self-possessed.”

  Fiddling with her keys again, Sadie said, “Call me a big buttinski, but I don’t think you know that fellow well enough to marry him.”

  “You’ve been a big buttinski all my life, darling.” She chuckled. “Why stop now?”

  Settling her hips against the sink, Claire considered her feelings about Adam, not that they mattered anymore.

  “Adam and I have similar goals. And he’s reputed to be an excellent surgeon on his way up. But, the truth is—”

  “The higher a monkey climbs, the more you see of its behind.” Sadie flattened her mouth and shook her head. Her eyes closed like those of an empress about to bestow the wisdom of the ages.

  “Aunt Sadie, I . . . you didn’t like Adam?”

  “How I feel about him’s not important. You seem to feel you know him, but you don’t. Not if you haven’t slept with him, you don’t.”

  “Oh, it’s okay,” Claire said. “Listen, I should explain. See, last night—”

  “Other than teaching you how to protect yourself, and trying to impart some wisdom into yours and your brother’s heads about making smart decisions, I’ve pretty much kept quiet about sex.” A tiny smile tilted her mouth. “I know you’ve probably had your share of beaus, and you’ve probably slept with some of them, and that’s fine.” She gave a sharp nod. “I’d think it a mighty sad turn of events if a woman your age had never enjoyed what the bedroom has to offer. But . . .”

  Her voice trailed off as she gazed directly into Claire’s eyes.

  “When I ran off to Hollywood at sixteen, I was a virgin. First thing I did was get rid of it.” She let a singsong sigh past her lips, and smiled wearily. “Virtue was a burden that became too heavy to bear. Besides, undue importance has been placed on keeping it. Life is hard enough, Claire. Dispatching of one’s innocence lightens the load considerably, frees a person to tend to other, more important things. If knowledge is power, then knowing how adult physical relationships work takes the edge away from the males and gives it to the females. A man can’t take advantage of a girl who’s figured a few things out.”

  “You were a woman ahead of your time, Auntie.”

  “Unquestionably,” she said, lifting her head in a manner befitting royalty. “What I am trying to say, Claire, is that it has been my experience a woman doesn’t really know a man until she’s been at his mercy, flat on her back, with his hands on her. In other words, until she’s had sex with him.”

  Claire’s mind went immediately to Taylor, and this time, she did nothing to stop it.

  “Some men,” Sadie continued, her eyes downcast, “some men treat you like you’re no more than baggage for them to use any way they wish. Those men are known as selfish bastards.”

  “. . . bastards . . .”

  “Shut up, Hitch. Some men will take much more than they’re ever capable of giving. Those men are known as selfish sons of bitches.”

  “. . . sawfish . . . sonsabbats . . .”

  “Good boy, Hitch.” She smiled sweetly at her pet. “He’s so quick.” Returning her attention to Claire, she said, “And then there are some men who will idolize you, cater to your every whim, and generally overwhelm you with affection to the point of being cloying. While that may sound appealing, it gets quite tiresome.”

  “And what are those men called?”

  “Boys.” Sadie shook her head. “The goal in a relationship is mutual passion. You give, he takes. He gives, you take. When all’s said and done, it’s good for everybo
dy, nobody feels cheated, everybody’s satisfied, and you’ve got yourself one hell of a sex life.”

  A sad look entered her eyes, and her voice faltered a little. “Of course, that can’t be all there is. You’ve got to have love and compatibility going for you, too, as I had with my darling Phillip, brief though our marriage was. Essentially, until you’ve seen how a man treats you in bed, Claire, you don’t really know him at all.”

  “I didn’t accept Adam’s proposal, Auntie. Our relationship is over.”

  Sadie gave a sharp nod as if to say, Perfect! Then, she seemed to have an afterthought.

  “And that other young man I met,” she said. “The studly dark-haired one?”

  “Taylor.”

  She looked into Claire’s eyes for a long time, then said, “You have slept with him, haven’t you.”

  “Yes.”

  Pursing her lips, she gave Claire a steady look. “Are you going to marry him?”

  Claire felt her throat close up. Her cheeks warmed, and her eyes stung a little.

  When she didn’t respond, Sadie reached up to tenderly stroke Claire’s cheek with her thumb, and whisper, “I see.”

  With a watery smile, Claire choked, “Have I told you today how much I adore you, Aunt Sadie?”

  The lady smiled. “Why yes, dear. I believe you have. I saw it, just there, in your eyes, when you came into the kitchen.”

  Claire wrapped her arms around the delicate woman and gave her a squeeze.

  “Thanks for everything you’ve done, all you gave up for Zach and me. I probably don’t say it enough—”

  Sadie pushed herself to an arm’s length. “Pah! I gave up nothing. I’m basically a very selfish woman. I got what I wanted, you and your brother. What’s that compared to the adulation of millions of moviegoers?” Her eyes sparkled, and she winked.

  The kitchen door creaked and slammed shut behind the little dynamo as she headed to her truck. A few moments later, the old green Ford ambled up the driveway and out of sight.

  Claire let out a long, slow, deep, disturbed breath.

  It was as though Aunt Sadie had snuck into her subconscious and discovered Claire’s most intimate thoughts about Taylor.

  He had not used her like baggage. He had not taken from her and given nothing in return. And he hadn’t worshipped her, either. He had been sweet, and passionate, and tender, taking a little, giving more. He’d held her close and caressed her, whispering soft words in her ear, nuzzling her neck with his smile, making her want him all over again. Making her want him forever.

  Men had satisfied her desires before Taylor, but none had become a part of her the way he had.

  Surely, she could find that kind of connection with another man. It didn’t have to be Taylor, did it?

  Turning to Hitch, she said, “You be a good boy. I’ve got to go work with the bees.”

  “. . . wax on . . . wax off . . .”

  “Yes, you’re a very smart bird. Now shut the hell up.”

  With a shake of her head, Claire pushed open the kitchen door and went outside.

  Though it was late August, September was making its presence known in the bite of the breeze as it tumbled a whirlwind of dry leaves across the yard. Soon the trees would begin changing, turning yellow and burnished orange and crimson. Already the apple orchard stood with outstretched branches heavily laden with ripening fruit, and the hive combs were filled with waxy amber honey. The evening air would cool and carry a subtle, smoky scent. Lazy summer days would become a memory, as long winter nights took their place.

  As she crossed the yard to the barn, her muck boots crunched over the gravel, dirt, and leaves.

  “Henrietta, Hermione, Hebsiba,” she said to the trio of brown leghorns as they chuckled and flapped and scurried out of her way. She made a mental note to gather eggs from the henhouse once she was finished at the hives.

  In the barn, she tugged on her leather work gloves, pulled the ancient wheelbarrow from its place in the last stall, and pushed it into the yard.

  Over the decades, trips out to the beehives had worn ruts in the dirt from the yard to the field, and though the wheelbarrow was heavy, it was worth the effort because it invariably reminded her of her visits to the farm when she was a little girl.

  From the time she’d been a toddler, her grandfather, Sadie’s brother, had let her ride in the wheelbarrow. Claire had bounced and laughed as he purposely hit every bump in the trail, then pretended to lose control, threatening to dump her out into the tall grass that lined the pathway. When the wheelbarrow was filled with honey-heavy combs, he let her help push it back to the barn.

  The hive bodies were a good hundred yards from the house, so by the time she arrived, she was panting from the exertion.

  “Maybe I need to get one of those new, lightweight plastic jobbies,” she mumbled as she eyed Grandpa’s handmade version. The paint had long ago chipped off the enormous sheet metal bed, and the wooden handles had splintered in places, but she didn’t have the heart to replace the thing. After all, her fingers curled around the handles in the same place her grandfather’s had. When she touched them, she was touching him—and then she didn’t miss him quite so much.

  Claire approached the hives and began looking for evidence of mice or other infestations. Around her, the bees hummed and hovered and generally ignored what she was doing.

  “Hey, b-b-baby,” came a masculine voice from behind her.

  Claire spun around, nearly losing her balance. He stood there, legs braced, hands on his hips, his mouth tilted in a cocky grin.

  “You!” she snapped. “I can’t believe you have the nerve to show your face after last night. What a jerk!”

  His eyes sparkled with mischief. “No I’m not.”

  “Do you know every cheesy pickup line in the book?”

  “Yes.” With a smug look, he said, “If I c-could rearrange the alphabet, I’d put U and I together.”

  “Puh-leeze.”

  “D-do you believe in love at first sight,” he stumbled, “or sh-should I walk by again?”

  “You should walk in front of an oncoming train!”

  “Hey,” he said, shrugging. “You made up the rules when you told Dr. Doodledick about my so-called medical history.”

  “You left that door wide open when you barged in on my dinner date.” She marched over to the first hive body and removed the lid.

  “Can I help?”

  “No.”

  His blue eyes locked with hers, and she felt her skin warm. “How did you know I was out here, anyway? You can’t see the hives from the yard because of the apple trees.”

  He gestured to the wheelbarrow. “I just followed the noise-mobile there. I figured it was either you or somebody torturing the Tin Man.”

  Indignant that he would insult a treasured family heirloom, she huffed, “It used to belong to my grandfather.”

  “Looks like it used to belong to Noah.”

  He smiled at her then, a warm, sort of sleepy look that sent ripples of awareness all the way down to her toes.

  You don’t know a man until you’ve been at his mercy, flat on your back, with his hands on you.

  She swallowed past the wad of cotton suddenly stuck in her throat.

  Glancing at the beehives, he said, “I didn’t realize you had bees.”

  “One does not have bees,” she managed. “One keeps bees.” Rubbing her chin, she said, “I learned how from my grandfather. It’s a pleasant, gentle hobby.”

  “I don’t know a thing about them,” he said, widening his incredibly blue eyes like a little boy who’d been overlooked for dodgeball. “Maybe I can help you and you can teach me—”

  “About the birds and the bees?” She scoffed and tugged at her gloves. “I have a feeling you wrote the book.”

  Smiling down at her, he said, “Are you going to collect some honey?”

  With a sigh of reluctance, she said, “I’m not getting rid of you until you’re ready to be gotten rid of, am I?”

/>   “I’m such a pest. It’s a curse, really.”

  “Seems to me you have more than your share. Don’t you have any detecting to do?”

  “I got off shift at five.”

  She shifted her weight to one leg. “Well, in answer to your question, yes, I’m collecting honey. If you want to stay and watch, I guess I can’t stop you, but you’ll be bored, and with any luck at all, your manly pheromones will piss off the bees and they’ll all sting you.”

  “You make it sound so appealing, this gentle hobby of yours.”

  Ignoring him—or trying to—she turned away again. A moment later, she felt him directly behind her, the intimate waft of his breath on the back of her neck.

  “Stand over there,” she ordered in a desperate attempt to keep him at a distance.

  He moved to where she had indicated. “Why here?”

  “Because you were in the bees’s approach to the hive. They have flight patterns. If you stay out of their way, you’re less likely to get stung. Are you allergic to bee stings?”

  “Nope.”

  “Okay. Here.” She carefully removed a comb from the first hive, and handed it over to him. Several dozen bees swarmed to it and began crawling over the wax cells. Taylor didn’t flinch.

  “How long do these guys live?” he said as he placed it in the wheelbarrow.

  “Those guys are all girls,” she corrected. She stopped what she was doing and smiled up at him. “In the world of bees, the males are good for one thing and one thing only.”

  He blinked innocently. “Bees can change flat tires?

  “Once their duty has been done,” she continued, unaffected by his meager attempts at humor, “those males who survived the mating flight are not allowed back inside the hive. They’re a liability since they can’t create honey or support the hive. They are useless.”

  She eyed him meaningfully.

  “If they survived the mating flight?”

  As she pulled another comb from the hive body, she said, “When a queen matures, she leaves the hive and mates in the air with whatever drones can get to her. All the sperm she will ever need to lay eggs for the rest of her life are collected at that time. When each male is through,” she said slowly, arching a brow, “she kicks him away, disemboweling him and leaving his testicles and mating gear inside her. Of course, he dies.”